


Love Vigilantes

by Luka



Series: Iceman [9]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-22
Updated: 2008-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  During their trip to Paris Ryan offers Stephen a life-changing opportunity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Vigilantes

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[claudia](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/claudia), [ditzy](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/ditzy), [fic](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [iceman](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/iceman), [lyle](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/lyle), [nick](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/nick), [ryan](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/ryan), [series](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/series), [slash](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/slash), [stephen](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/stephen)  
  
  
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Title:  Love Vigilantes  
Author: Luka  
Characters: Stephen Hart, Tom Ryan, Jon Lyle, Nick Cutter, Claudia Brown, Ditzy, Claire  
Rating: 18  
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing and won't make a penny out of them. I'll put them back when I'm finished, honest!  
Spoilers: Nope.  
Pairing: Stephen/Ryan  
Summary:  During their trip to Paris Ryan offers Stephen a life-changing opportunity  
A/N: Number nine in The Iceman series. Jon Lyle and the rest of the SF lads appear by kind permission of [](http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/profile)[**fredbassett**](http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/) (and thanks to her, as always, for the beta). There are links to the earlier stories at the top of my LJ.

  


Ryan looked around him and was glad he'd been schooled in staying emotionless. The flat had all the warmth and atmosphere of a show house. The only reason he knew Stephen lived here was because of his laptop on the table and some of his running gear draped over radiators to dry. Even though it was hot outside, the place felt chilly.

Stephen was watching him and Ryan moved into the room and kissed him. "OK?"

Stephen nodded. "Stopping Nick from strangling the Dean in the department meeting is my achievement for the day. I need a strong cup of tea, then we can psyche ourselves up for later."

"Is it going to be earning us remission in hell time?"

"Probably. We'll make sure we avoid the wankers."

"D'you really have to go?"

"It'll look a bit off if I don't. It's an end of academic year tradition for everyone to go round to Nick's for supper."

"Do people know you're turning up with a bloke?"

"Nope."

Ryan followed Stephen into the kitchen, which resembled the rest of the flat – chilly and beige. Someone had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to colour-coordinate all the cupboards, the fridge and the oven in stifling blandness.

"Is the flat yours?" He realised he'd never asked. They'd just fallen into the routine of Stephen staying at his. Ryan was only there because they were going to the party at Cutter's that night, then to Paris the next morning.

"Rented. It belongs to one of the geography lecturers who lived here for about a month before he met his girlfriend and moved in with her. He's decided it's going to be his pension plan, so hasn't bothered to sell it."

Ryan nodded and accepted a mug of tea.

"I know the colour scheme sucks, but the rent's cheap, Paul's a good landlord and it's near the uni."

"Which are the main things," acknowledged Ryan.

And it reminded him why his own house was important to him. When you spent so much time in shitty troublespots of the world, having somewhere you liked to return to couldn't be underestimated. And he'd spent too long living in barracks when he was younger. Ryan hadn't spent an age or a fortune furnishing the house, but he'd made it comfortable and surrounded himself with things he liked.

"The sodding architect should have been shot, though. The walls are paper-thin, the bloody heating bills are through the roof and no matter how many windows you leave open, it always smells faintly damp. I reckon half the reason Paul never tried to sell it is because he knows no one'd be mad enough to buy it. The whole block's probably in negative equity by now. Right, d'you fancy some toast or a sandwich? I'd better warn you that Nick's cooking is terrible and it's a dead cert that we'll have to buy chips on the way home."

~*~*~*

Cutter's house was rather like him – rumpled and scruffy, but with underlying class. The party was in full swing when they arrived, and Ryan got the feeling Cutter had already had a few to drink before it started. He embraced Stephen, and shook hands with Ryan.

"Come in, lads. Help yourself to food and drink. You know where the kitchen is, Stephen."

The house looked to be Victorian, with high ceilings and what were probably the original mouldings and fireplaces. The furniture was a mis-match and quite old-fashioned, but it had a slightly shabby charm to it, as if Cutter had scoured antiques and junk shops for period pieces.

"Nice place," said Ryan, filling a plate with pizza, baked potato and salad, and accepting a can of beer from Stephen.

"Yeah. They bought it once they got married. It's typical Cutter – looks like a bomb's hit it most of the time."

"This food's not bad."

"We're safe this time. He's obviously been down to Tesco. It's when he starts cooking himself that you need to worry."

They went through into the living room where there were about 20 or so people struggling to make themselves heard over some unmelodic music being bawled out by a bloke with a London accent. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Trust bloody Cutter to play Billy Bragg at a party. No doubt he's showing his good leftie credentials."

"Cutter's taste in music starts and finishes with punk. Once he gets pissed he puts The Pogues on and starts pogoing up and down."

"Oh gawd. I hope we'll have left by then … Hello Claudia."

"Captain Ryan, Stephen … Thank heavens for sane company. They're all bonkers here …"

"Yep," said Stephen.

"I was trying to make polite conversation with that one in the corner, and when I told him I'd once been to Australia, he explained to me in excessive detail the geological make-up of the Outback."

"Oh yeah, Norman Grant the department bore …"

"You can say that again."

"Just don't mention the railways, because he's a train spotter."

"Thank you for the warning! So, you two are here together?"

"Yes," said Stephen, regarding her warily.

"Good. I'm feeling a bit like a duck out of water tonight, but Nick was most insistent that I came. And he's taking me out for dinner tomorrow night."

"About time."

Ryan could see Claudia looking confused, but before she could say anything, a tall bald-headed man wandered over. And Ryan noticed immediately the look of dislike on Stephen's face.

"Hello Stephen."

"Hello Craig."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your pretty lady friend?"

"Claudia, this is Craig Mountford, who teaches zoology. Craig, this is Claudia Brown, a friend of Nick's."

"Pleased to meet you, Craig." Claudia, manners impeccable as always, shook hands dutifully.

"So you're not with our handsome Dr Hart, then?"

"No, although I know Stephen very well."

"Presumably not in the biblical sense …"

"No." Claudia's tone was icy.

"Mind you, Dr Hart wouldn't be interested in you anyway, my dear …"

"Shut up, Craig," snapped Stephen.

"Yes, I hear he's of the pillow-biting persuasion. And I assume this muscle man does the honours … I've always thought Dr Hart was far too pretty to be straight."

Claudia dashed her glass of wine into the man's face, grinding her heel into his instep. And Ryan was a fraction too late to stop Stephen grabbing him by the throat and pushing him against a wall.

"That's enough, Craig! I'd like you to leave." Nick pushed his way in between the two men.

"Oh come on Nick, I was only joking …"

"I don't think you were. I won't have that sort of abuse directed at a friend.  You owe Stephen and Ryan an apology."

"I've nothing to apologise for."

"Get out of my house, Craig. And I shall have to think very carefully as to whether I report the incident to Human Resources."

"Fuck you, Nick!" Craig stamped off without looking back. They heard the heavy front door slam.

Nick sighed and rubbed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry about that. I'd hoped he wouldn't turn up, considering he hates my guts."

Stephen shrugged. "Not your fault."

"Come and talk to some more congenial company. And let me get you both another drink."

Ryan was bored out of his skull by 8.30pm. No one appeared to have any topic of conversation outside of science. He and Claudia had chatted for a while before Nick had whisked her away. And he could see Stephen was struggling as well. Even with people he worked with, he was obviously still serious and reserved and didn't find small-talk easy.

Stephen handed Ryan another beer. "We can go in a minute. Judging by how much Nick's drunk it must be …" A blast of music drowned out his words before the volume was lowered minutely. "Shit, Streams of Whiskey. Time to go. And as you've been so long-suffering, I'll buy you fish and chips on the way home!"

~*~*~*

"Tom, this must have cost a fortune …" Stephen looked totally shocked as they sat down in a first class carriage on Eurostar.

Ryan shrugged. "If you book a good way in advance, first class isn't that much more than standard class. And it's nice as a treat."

Stephen nodded, brushing his foot up and down Ryan's leg. They had a table to themselves and had spread their books and magazines out. "It's fabulous. Thank you."

"And we get a meal as well."

"Great."

Ryan was about to reply when the carriage steward appeared and set champagne down in front of them.

"Enjoy, gentlemen!" He was camp as a row of tents, and winked at them. When Stephen smiled at him, Ryan was amused to notice the bloke got all flushed and fluttery. But it meant they got excellent service and an extra glass of champagne each.

"So you reckon Cutter's finally got his arse in gear and asked Claudia out?"

"Sounds like it," said Stephen, nibbling at a chunk of Brie.

"She's too good for him, mind …"

"He's OK. He's easy to misunderstand."

"So was Attila the Hun. Have you decided what you fancy seeing in Paris?"

"I'd love to go up the Eiffel Tower if we can. Otherwise I don't mind. I'll be happy just walking and exploring. And …"

"And?"

"Being with you," said Stephen simply.

~*~*~*

"Bloody hell!" Ryan looked around the hotel room in total amazement.

"Yep. Makes a change from a Travel Inn! How did you find it?"

"It wasn't me, it was Claire."

"Ditzy's Claire?"

"Yes. She teaches French, so I asked her to help me book somewhere."

The hotel was incredible – an eccentric little place built round a courtyard on île Saint-Louis. It was run by two gay guys – a Frenchman called Yves, and his Irish partner Niall. Every room was overflowing with antiques and idiosyncratic furnishings.

The bedroom they were shown to was at the very top of the hotel. It was huge, with an immense bed and sofa. And the bathroom had a free-standing claw-footed bath which looked like it would take both of them at the same time.

"How did she find it?"

"No idea." Ryan grabbed his mobile and speed-dialled Ditzy.

"Hey boss! Where are you?"

"Paris. Is Claire around?"

"Sure. Hang on. Claire! The boss wants to talk to you."

Ryan winced at Ditzy's full-throttle bellow. Then he laughed as he heard Claire saying: "Ditzy, the point of a mobile phone is that you can take it to someone rather than bellowing like a fishwife from somewhere round Kidderminster!"

"I don't think they have fishwives in Kidderminster. Ouch! OK, OK, sorry!"

"Hi, it's Claire. How's the hotel?"

"Fabulous, thank you. But how the hell did you find it?"

"Went down to WH Smith, bought Gay Times and looked in the small ads for holiday accommodation. Then I Googled the places online. That one looked the nicest and most unusual."

"Oh."

"And I've saved you the magazine, as there's a supplement on how to plan your civil partnership."

"Sod that, I'm hiring you to do it!"

"Ah, so you _are_ going to propose to Stephen?"

"When I do, you'll be the second person to know. Is Ditzy still there?"

There was some muttering in the background, and Claire came back on. "He says that everything's fine, that Jon's lads are on standby and that you should bugger off and enjoy your break, and he'll speak to you when you're back. Have fun!"

Ryan put the phone onto silent and put it back in his jacket pocket. "If the British Army had Claire in charge, no one would have the wrong boots, and equipment would always be in the right place. And if she was in charge of Network Rail, she'd have the bloody trains running on time!"

"So how did she find this place?"

"Went down to WH Smith, bought Gay Times and looked at the ads in the back."

"Oh. Full marks for initiative."

"Yep. Right, are we going to look for something to eat?"

"Yes. Then I want to test-drive that bath …"

~*~*~*

"I can't believe we're here …"  Stephen's eyes shone as he looked around the restaurant on the first floor of the Eiffel Tower. It almost felt like they were in an airship, looking out over the Seine and the city at night.

"It's pretty striking," admitted Ryan.

"It's perfect."

They'd been down at the Eiffel Tower at 9am that morning – and still had to queue for nearly 45 minutes before getting in. It had been worth the effort, but Ryan booking dinner in the restaurant for that evening had been an inspired move. The food was good, but the setting really made it.

As they ate, they talked about work, and Ryan marvelled how someone so focussed and sorted could be such a mess emotionally. He loved Stephen's enthusiasm for his job, and how he truly wanted to make a difference. Stephen talked animatedly about his idea for a conference paper and about a field trip he and Cutter were planning to South America in the autumn.

"You could come with us …"

"I'm not sure it's me," said Ryan, not wanting to say that the thought of Cutter in a small group for three weeks wasn't an enticing one.

"Course it is. We can always do with another sane and sensible human being to keep the students in order. And you'll love the rainforest."

"It does sound good," admitted Ryan. "I'm not sure when we next get downtime, though, not with all the anomalies crap going on. And will Lester really let you and Cutter swan off for three weeks?"

"I dunno …" Stephen looked downhearted. "Mind you, this Anomaly Research Centre might be up and running by then as well …"

"What?"

"I saw this email from Lester to Cutter about it. You haven't heard anything?"

"Nope. But then as Ditzy says, we're like mushrooms – they keep us in the dark and feed us shit. So what did it say?"

"Not much, just something about how there were going to be high-level talks about setting up this research centre, and how Cutter's going to have to go to some meeting in London about it."

"I won't hold my breath. Bloody bureaucrats. They'll fart about, complain that it'll cost too much, and then get it up and running sometime around the time we draw our pensions … Anyway, what were you doing snooping round Cutter's emails?"

"If I don't weed out the important ones, he ignores them. At the last count he had 1500 unread emails."

"I'd let the fucker sink."

"I know, but it's not fair on the students who might genuinely need help."

As they were drinking their coffee, Ryan came to a decision. He said quietly: "Stephen, you don't have to decide now, but how would you feel about us living together?"

Stephen stared at him, blue eyes wide. "D'you really mean that?"

"Of course." He'd been mulling it over for a while, not sure how Stephen would react, but staying that one night in the chilly, soulless flat had decided him. He wanted Stephen with him, in a warm and comfortable house.

"I'd … I'd like that very much, if it's what you want."

"I do."

Stephen's smile was devastating, and he reached out to squeeze Ryan's hand, seemingly oblivious as to whether people were looking. "Thank you."

"How much notice do you have to give on the flat?"

"We never bothered with a contract. I suppose it would only be fair to give Paul a month's notice, though."

Ryan nodded. "We can start moving your stuff over as soon as we get back from France. How much of the furniture's yours?"

"None. It'll mainly be my clothes, books, CDs and DVDs."

"Won't take long, then."

"No. Tom, thanks …"

Ryan smiled. "It's going to be good."

And Stephen's smile suggested that for once he believed him.

~*~*~*

Stephen sat on the bed cross-legged and watched Ryan undress. He felt slightly light-headed from the bottle of wine they'd shared and also from the knowledge that they'd soon be together properly. He was still finding it hard to believe that this gorgeous man wanted to share his life with a fuck-up like him.

And he adored Ryan's house, with its simple but comfy décor. He couldn't wait to leave the flat. It had never felt like home, and was always chilly and smelled faintly damp, no matter how many windows he left open. But then he'd never felt like he belonged anywhere.

Ryan lay down beside him and stroked his hair with his strong hand. "OK?"

Stephen nodded and they began to kiss, arms tight around each other. Stephen rolled onto his back, enjoying the feeling of the strong body pressed into his. Their cocks were rubbing together and Stephen knew it wouldn't be long before he came, and he suspected Ryan was the same. He grabbed hold of Ryan's muscular arse and as Ryan wriggled on top of him, Stephen slid his finger between the soldier's tight buttocks.

The reaction was instant, as Ryan reared up and back, ending up crouched on the furthest corner of the bed, his breathing harsh and fast.

"Tom, Christ, are you OK? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry …"

Ryan's eyes were closed and he was sweating. "I'm OK …" But his voice was strained.

"You don't look it. Can you tell me what's wrong? Here, drink this …" Stephen passed him the bottle of water from beside the bed and Ryan drained half of it in one gulp.

"Sorry about this. I should have told you before." His voice was steady again, but he was very pale.

"Come and lie down. I won't touch you, I promise …"

Ryan slid under the duvet, curling up in a foetal position.  "It happened in Bosnia. Me and one of the other lads were captured by the Serbs and tortured for a few days until we were rescued." He sounded so matter-of-fact.

"Tom, oh fuck …"

He shrugged. "Risk of the job. And I escaped pretty lightly. Gaz, the other lad, didn't make it. One of the fuckers decided it'd be a laugh to shove things up my arse to get me to talk …" Ryan must have seen the look of horror on Stephen's face, because he added: "They didn't rape me, but they stuck guns up me and threatened to pull the trigger."

"Fuck. I'm not sure that that isn't worse …"

"Maybe. All I know now is that I can't cope with anything up my arse. Sorry …"

"I'm not surprised. What happened to the other lad? Gaz?"

Ryan nodded. "He was shot during the crossfire when the cavalry arrived. Even Ditzy couldn't save him." He looked straight at Stephen and said: "The fucker who assaulted me, I shot him between the eyes."

Stephen shivered, but hoped he'd kept his face expressionless. He'd spent all of his adult life around guns, but until the anomalies project it had never been a matter of life or death. Even now he couldn't imagine shooting a person. It was easy to forget that Ryan and the other lads weren't just the comforting presence to protect them from rampaging monsters – they were trained killers.

Ryan was watching him carefully. He said quietly: "Can you stand a relationship where you're always the one on the bottom?"

Stephen touched the strong, square hand, tracing his fingers over it. When Ryan didn't pull away he pressed it to his lips. "Of course I can. What I feel for you is far more than just what we do in bed."

Ryan's eyes were fixed unwaveringly on him, and Stephen just wanted to take him in his arms. So he said: "Will you let me hold you, Tom?"

Ryan nodded, burrowing into Stephen's arms, head on his shoulder. Stephen kissed the top of his head and settled them comfortably. After a while he sensed the soldier's breathing had evened out and that he was asleep. It took much longer for Stephen to fall asleep, his brain teeming with unwanted images.

~*~*~*

Ryan woke up bang on 6am as always, despite the unfamiliar bed. Stephen was still asleep, his hand on Ryan's thigh. Ryan closed his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened the night before. For the first time in years he wanted to huddle under the duvet and not confront the world. He could hear Ditzy's brisk voice saying: "I was right all along, boss, you haven't dealt with any of this." Ryan's response when Ditzy had tried to persuade him to talk about it to someone had been short and pithy. The matter had never been raised again despite Ryan knowing he would have made any of his lads go off for counselling if it had happened to them.

He slid out of bed and cleared a space to do his press-ups and sit-ups. Part way through the routine Stephen surfaced, his eyes heavy and his hair on end. He went through into the bathroom and Ryan heard the shower start up.

Ryan finished his exercises and stood up, mopping his face with a towel. Stephen was sitting on the bed, a mug of tea in his hand.

"You want yours now or after you've showered?"

"After the shower. I won't be a minute."

When Ryan appeared ten minutes later, towelling his hair dry, Stephen was engrossed in a book.

"Sorry if I woke you …"

"You didn't. You OK?"

Ryan kissed the top of his head. "I'm fine."

Stephen nodded and wrapped his arms round Ryan's waist, hugging him tight. They stayed like that for several minutes until Ryan gently disentangled himself, ruffled Stephen's hair and started to dress.

~*~*~*

After breakfast they set out to explore more of the city. They had coffee in a small café north of the Seine, then Ryan decided he wanted to visit St Sulpice.

"Haven't you read The Da Vinci Code?" he asked when Stephen raised his eyebrows.

"Nope. I don't read much fiction."

"Oh well, all you need to know is that there are lots of mad monks, and it slags off the church."

"Sounds fine to me."

As they were coming out of the church, Stephen glanced in the window of an antiques shop. "Tom, stay here, I won't be a minute. Look, go and get us a table in that café."

"What …?"

"Please."

"OK."

Stephen pushed the door of the shop open and went in. An elderly man looked up.

"Bonjour, monsieur."

"Bonjour. Je voudrais …"

"You are English?"

Stephen nodded. "Oui, mais je parle un peu de francais …"

"I lived in Scotland for a while, so it is good for me to practise my English. You know Scotland? I was in Glasgow for three years." His English was good, but heavily-accented.

"A friend comes from there. I don't know it well myself."

"Now, you are looking for something?"

"Yes. May I see the pendant in the window, the one with the broken heart and two chains?"

"Of course." The old man reached into the window display and pulled out the pendant and handed it to Stephen. "You know what the writing is?"

"Hebrew?"

"Yes. It translates as 'even when we are apart we are together.' You would like it for you and your beloved?"

"How much is it?"

"Two hundred and fifty Euros. It is 19th century and 21 caret gold."

Stephen did a quick calculation. About £200. That was OK. He could put it on his credit card.

"You would like it?"

"Yes please."

The old man reached beneath the counter and pulled out a cloth. "Let me clean it so it looks its best. And I think the chains will be long enough for men's necks."

Stephen stared at him, and the old man smiled. "I watched you sending your beloved across the road. It is a surprise for him?"

"Yes."

"Don't look so shocked, young man. I survived Auschwitz, so two young men in love seems very minor in the scheme of things. Now, if the chains are not long enough, bring them back and I shall find you two others."

"Thank you."

~*~*~*

Ryan sipped his glass of mineral water and glanced at his watch. It was just gone 1pm and he was feeling peckish. The waiter was hovering, and Ryan's primitive French along the lines of 'j'attend mon ami' seemed to do the trick. Then Stephen appeared from the shop across the road, jogging between cars to join him. The waiter swooped and was rewarded with a smile from Stephen. Ryan felt like telling him what a rare privilege that was, and how he should value it.

"What are you eating?" asked Stephen, scanning the menu rapidly.

"Omelette and chips, I think."

"OK. D'accord, monsieur. Un salade aux fromage de chevres, s'il vous plait, et un omelet avec des frites. Oui, et un café crème pour moi. D'you want coffee, Tom? Non, il boit de l'eau. Merci."

"What are you having?"

"Goats cheese salad."

Ryan wrinkled his nose and Stephen laughed. He looked young, handsome and carefree, and Ryan wished they could capture that moment for ever.

"So what was with the cloak and dagger act?"

Stephen set a small box in front of Ryan. "Open it."

Ryan did so, and lifted out a gold heart on two chains. The heart split into two, and Ryan ran his finger down the fractured edge.

"Apparently it's 19th century and it's got Hebrew on it, and translates as 'even when we're apart, we're together.' I saw it and I thought … I dunno, I hope you don't think it's too sappy … And I know you won't be able to wear it at work, but maybe …"

"Stephen, it's beautiful. Thank you."

"You really like it?"

Ryan nodded. And he wasn't lying. He'd never worn any sort of jewellery, aside from the ring, but this was unusual and he knew he wouldn't feel self-conscious wearing it under a teeshirt off-duty.

"We can try them on in a minute. The bloke in the shop said that if the chains weren't long enough, he'd find us some others."

"Looks long enough." Ryan undid the catch and fumbled with the fastening.

"Here, let me." Stephen reached round and did the chain up. "Yeah, that's fine." His long fingers started to fiddle with the opening on the other chain. Ryan lifted it from his grasp, undid it, and fastened it round his neck.

"So's that one. And it looks good."

Stephen smiled with genuine pleasure, and Ryan could feel himself smiling back.

Their lunch arrived and they dived in, chatting as they ate about what they'd do that afternoon. Stephen wanted to visit the catacombs under the city streets, and Ryan had to admit it sounded intriguing, if somewhat macabre. They finished the meal with cups of coffee, and Stephen asked for the bill. He stood up suddenly, handing his wallet over to Ryan. "I'm going to the loo. Pay for the lunch out of there, please. And I'll check when I come back to make sure you did."

Ryan knew he would, so when the bill came he pulled a 50 Euro note out. As he did so, a hand-written receipt fell out. He glanced at it as he tucked it back in, and noticed it was for the gift. Christ, it had cost 250 Euros – that was about 200 quid. He knew it wouldn't have been cheap – he'd seen the hallmark on the back of the heart – but there was no way he'd hurt Stephen's feelings by saying anything, even though he knew damn well the young scientist couldn't afford that sort of money. He'd just make sure he paid for the next few meals.

~*~*~*

On the last night they ate at a restaurant on Île Saint-Louis and then wandered the narrow streets for the last time. It felt like they were the only people there, and Stephen thought he could never be happier when Ryan linked their little fingers as they walked.

Back at the hotel Ryan produced a bottle of champagne and a box of truffles.

"Oh wow, what are they in aid of?"

"Us," said Ryan simply, pouring some champagne into one of the tooth mugs and passing it over to Stephen.

"To us." Stephen was convinced he was dreaming and that he was going to wake up alone again in his bleak flat.

They sat on the windowseat sipping the champagne in companionable silence, looking down onto the river and the city. And then Stephen felt brave, setting their glasses down and starting to kiss Ryan. Soon he was on his knees, the soldier's cock in his mouth.

"No, Stephen, wait …" Ryan pulled him to his feet and turned him round so that he was leaning against the windowsill. Stephen squirmed and moaned as an insistent tongue opened him up, setting all his nerve ends on edge. And then it was like his legs couldn't support his weight any more and he fell forward as Ryan's prick inched into him.

"OK?"

"Fuck, yes!"

Ryan eased him upright and Stephen moaned as the cock inside him shifted position. Then Ryan's left hand was anchoring him round his waist, and his right was rubbing through the hair on Stephen's chest, tweaking his nipples then tracing down his smooth, flat stomach to play with his prick.

It was slow and gentle and unhurried. They locked left hands and Stephen turned round so they could kiss. And his climax seemed to spread like a wave through Stephen's trembling body, leaving him exhausted with just Ryan's arms holding him up.

~*~*~*

"You're not bringing that bloody triffid, are you?" Ryan looked with distaste at the ugly plant inside the front door.

"God, no. I've done my best to kill it off over the past few years, but failed dismally. Paul thinks it makes the place look cool and trendy …"

"What does he want you to do with the keys?"

"I'll drop them round on the way. He only lives round the corner."

"OK. Right, so this is all the stuff to be moved?"

"Yep. I can take the rucksack on the bike, if necessary."

"This'll fit into Jon's van, no problem. He's used to moving stacks of caving gear …"

"Thanks for helping us out, Jon."

"No problem." Lyle was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a trace of a smile on his lips.

They had the van loaded up within 45 minutes. Ryan then watched as Stephen did a last check around to make sure he hadn't left anything.

"None of the kitchen stuff's yours?"

"Only some odds and ends, and they're in one of the boxes. Hang on, the kettle's mine. OK, I think that's it. I'll drop the keys off then follow you down."

"Fine." Ryan picked up the kettle and followed Stephen down the stairs. Lyle was on the phone to someone, and terminated the call as Ryan got into the van.

"This is a bit fucking serious, mate." Lyle indicated left and pulled out onto the main road.

"What is?"

"Shacking up together."

"So?"

"Just saying …"

"Yeah, well."

"You ever thought how good we could have been together, Ryan?" Lyle's voice was matter-of-fact.

Ryan had. But he said flatly: "We'd kill each other within a fortnight. And considering you only decided you were queer a month ago …"

"So you'd have made a move if you'd known before?"

"Nope. Don't shit on your own doorstep. No one's going to make too much song and dance about our private lives, especially given who you're fucking. But if we'd got it together, we'd have had endless shit and all the crappy placements when they separated us."

"Maybe …"

"You know we would. And anyway, I thought you and Lester were going to make a go of it."

"Dunno." Lyle's face was expressionless as he indicated and overtook a bumbling driver.

"Don't lie, Jon. It's serious, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Hoofuckingray, at last!"

"Yeah, well, don't go buying a new suit yet … You two can get hitched any time you like, but there's no fucking chance of me and James doing it. Not with a job like his and not with a wife and sprogs on the scene. Although they've started the divorce procedure."

"There you are, then. And if he didn't want to acknowledge that you're an item, he'd hardly have come down the pub with us the other week. And no one in the civil service gives a flying fuck any more what you do in bed."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. He's made some enemies on the way up, and they'd use anything against him."

"Yeah, and I bet Lester can take care of himself. He wrote the dirty tricks manual single-handed."

Lyle laughed. "I'll tell him that."

"Do. Right, I'll get out, then you can reverse onto the drive."

~*~*~*

Ryan hauled the last box inside and slammed the door behind him. "If these are your lifelong collection of GQ, they're going for recycling tomorrow."

"Cheeky sod! It's all the stuff from my PhD. I don't want to get rid of it at the moment."

"OK. It can go in the loft. Anything else to go up there that you don't need regularly?"

"Don't think so. That box is books, the one next to it is CDs and the one by your foot DVDs."

"Plenty of shelf space for them. And I've cleared space in the wardrobe and chest of drawers for your clothes."

"Thank you." Stephen kissed him. "I bought you this as a moving-in present …"

"You didn't have …" Ryan stopped when he saw the look in Stephen's eyes. "Thank you. That's really kind." He unwrapped the present and found a gorgeous carved chess set. "This is lovely. Where did you find it?"

"In an antiques shop. The bloke said he thought it was Indian."

"Looks it. It'll look great beside the other one. Maybe we can test-drive it later."

Stephen nodded. He was still standing by the front door, and looked almost lost. His belongings seemed pathetically few – some bin bags of clothes, plus half a dozen boxes. They'd fitted easily into the back of Lyle's van for one journey.

Ryan pulled him into his arms and kissed his forehead. "Welcome to your new home," he said quietly, and watched the emotion in Stephen's eyes. "Shall we get all of this unpacked, then think about eating?"

Stephen took a deep breath, then nodded. "Shall we go out somewhere? My treat."

"What about tomorrow? I've got some stuff in for tonight."

"OK. Sounds great."

~*~*~*

Stephen scrunched the bin bags up and closed the drawer. All his clothes were unpacked, and he'd helped Ryan haul the stuff he didn't need immediately into the loft. The move had made him realise just how few possessions he had. He'd sold some books and CDs on eBay and used the money towards buying the chess set for Ryan. He'd seen it and known immediately it was perfect. And with a bit of luck he'd soon have the money for Ryan's birthday present. Not paying the rent on the flat was going to make a difference, although he'd insisted on setting up a direct debit to pay something towards the bills every month. Ryan had flatly refused to take rent, saying that the house would be paid off in six months. So Stephen had set up a second direct debit to save £75 a month into a building society account. That way he'd be able to afford presents for Ryan, and maybe even that weekend away for his birthday.

"You done?" Ryan appeared in the bedroom doorway, a mug of tea in each hand.

"Yep. Thanks. You'll have to say if any of the stuff's in your way."

Ryan sat down beside him on the bed and wrapped a strong arm round Stephen's waist. "It won't be."

"It's just, it's a long time since I shared a house with anyone. I've more or less lived alone since I was 16."

"Didn't you share a house at university? Isn't that what students do?"

"I lived in hall for the first year, then found myself a bed-sit after that. I …" He swallowed hard, knowing he had to be honest. "I never really made any close friends at uni. I mean, there were people I hung out with, but they wanted to party all the time, and that's not me."

Ryan kissed the top of Stephen's head. "It's going to be fine. Yeah, we'll have to get used to each other at close quarters all day every day, but we'll figure it out. And we're going to make this work. We've both ended up in this crazy fucking world and we don't know what's going to happen. And you know that I could be shunted off to the back of beyond at short notice. So we make damn sure we enjoy ourselves while we can, OK?"

Stephen smiled and nodded, tracing his finger across Ryan's cheekbones and round his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a go of it. If it all went wrong, though, he'd be homeless. But Stephen knew this was his only chance at happiness. If it didn't work out, he could go and work abroad or move somewhere else in the UK. It would get him out of a rut. He'd stayed in one place for far too long.


End file.
